jstaal/letang, "spark"
Title: Spark
Fandom: Hockey RPS (Pens)
Pairing: Jordan Staal/Kris Letang
Rating: R
Words: 801
Summary: The aftermath of a pillow fight.
Note: Said pillow fight was part of a one-sentence challenge I was doing with andromeda26 , and she wanted more, with porn, so this was written.
So, okay, this is happening.
Kris is staring up at him with huge brown eyes, their hips firmly slotted together as Jordan straddles him, hands planted on the floor on either side of Kris’s neck and feathers are fluttering down from the ceiling.
They’re like really lame snowflakes.
Five seconds ago, Kris had shifted up and Jordan had shifted down and there was absolutely no mistaking the fact that they were both more than a little turned on. Now they’re both frozen, afraid to move, still breathing hard from the truly epic pillow fight they’d just had and locked in a staring contest that Jordan’s terrified to break.
Kris swallows and Jordan tracks the movement with his eyes, fingers curling into the carpet. A feather lands right on the tip of Kris’s nose. Jordan can’t help but smile, leans in to blow it away and Kris draws in another sharp breath.
“Jordan.”
Jordan’s tongue feels thick in his mouth as he says, “Kris?”
Whatever Kris was going to say gets lost between their lips as Jordan lets his elbows bend, forearms flat on the floor, and kisses Kris’s open mouth because he just can’t help it.
Kris makes a tiny muffled noise before closing his eyes (Jordan closes his, then, too) and his fingers, still caught in the hem of Jordan’s shirt, slip up and spread over Jordan’s stomach, warm and hesitant over the skin. “Oh,” Jordan says, surprised, and Kris steals the word away, hand curving around Jordan’s back and pulling him down further.
“Don’t stop,” Kris tells him, voice hoarse. “Don’t fucking stop.” He pushes his hips up into Jordan’s and Jordan groans, fingers scrabbling to wind themselves in Kris’s hair and kisses Kris longer, harder, deeper.
Kris rolls them over, legs tangled together as he rocks down again, lips wandering over Jordan’s jaw to his ear and when he catches the lobe in between his teeth Jordan bites his lip to keep the noise from escaping. They’re slowly picking up a rhythm and it’s driving Jordan absolutely mad. If he’s going to do this, if he’s going to do this with Kris, he wants to do it right and they are wearing far too many clothes for Jordan to be on board.
“Wait,” he gets out when he can breathe again, hands slipping from Kris’s hair to his jeans, fumbling with the button and zipper. “Want to touch you.”
Kris’s cheeks flush a gorgeous shade of red and he ducks his head as Jordan works at his jeans. He stutters something that Jordan can’t make out but when Jordan slides his hand inside he swears under his breath. Kris isn’t wearing underwear, and that’s, fuck, “so hot,” Jordan whispers and Kris’s eyes fall closed.
Jordan hesitates only a moment before curling his fingers around Kris’s cock and stroking, feeling bolder at the soft, bitten-off noises Kris is giving him in reply. It’s so hot, watching Kris’s head tip back and his hands tighten around Jordan’s hips when Jordan rubs his thumb on the underside. He’s never done this before, never been with another guy, so Kris’s reactions are leading him. He guesses he’s doing a pretty good job, because Kris suddenly opens his eyes, dark and hungry and says, “Stop, I’m going to - let me -” and “Take off your jeans.”
Jordan immediately misses his body heat when Kris gets off, but he’s staring intently at Jordan as he shoves his jeans and boxers down over his hips and nearly pounces back on when Jordan’s shirt goes flying somewhere. “God,” Kris says, kisses him hard and fast. Then they’re at it again, kissing like the world is going to end if they stop and now they’re naked and Jordan cannot stop touching him, fingers smoothing over the bumps of Kris’s spine, over the cut of his hips, his nipples, his collarbone, his neck and Kris is shivering underneath his hands and their tongues are slick and sliding together, so hot Jordan thinks he’s going to explode.
Their cocks are dragging together between them, smearing precome messy and wet on their stomachs. Jordan grabs Kris’s hand and wraps their fingers together around their cocks, jerking them off.
“Jordan. Jordan,” Kris gasps, fist tightening and his entire body seizes up as he spills over their joined hands.
Jordan follows him almost embarrassingly fast, “Holy shit, Kris,” and he comes with a groan, Kris’s hand still moving over his cock until he slumps beside Jordan, sweaty cheek pressed to Jordan’s shoulder and their breathing returns to a normal rhythm.
Jordan feels completely boneless, head lazily falling to the side to find Kris smirking at him a little. “Best pillow fight of my life,” Jordan mumbles, and Kris laughs into his skin, sneaking one arm over his chest and kissing his shoulder.
Fandom: Hockey RPS (Pens)
Pairing: Jordan Staal/Kris Letang
Rating: R
Words: 801
Summary: The aftermath of a pillow fight.
Note: Said pillow fight was part of a one-sentence challenge I was doing with andromeda26 , and she wanted more, with porn, so this was written.
So, okay, this is happening.
Kris is staring up at him with huge brown eyes, their hips firmly slotted together as Jordan straddles him, hands planted on the floor on either side of Kris’s neck and feathers are fluttering down from the ceiling.
They’re like really lame snowflakes.
Five seconds ago, Kris had shifted up and Jordan had shifted down and there was absolutely no mistaking the fact that they were both more than a little turned on. Now they’re both frozen, afraid to move, still breathing hard from the truly epic pillow fight they’d just had and locked in a staring contest that Jordan’s terrified to break.
Kris swallows and Jordan tracks the movement with his eyes, fingers curling into the carpet. A feather lands right on the tip of Kris’s nose. Jordan can’t help but smile, leans in to blow it away and Kris draws in another sharp breath.
“Jordan.”
Jordan’s tongue feels thick in his mouth as he says, “Kris?”
Whatever Kris was going to say gets lost between their lips as Jordan lets his elbows bend, forearms flat on the floor, and kisses Kris’s open mouth because he just can’t help it.
Kris makes a tiny muffled noise before closing his eyes (Jordan closes his, then, too) and his fingers, still caught in the hem of Jordan’s shirt, slip up and spread over Jordan’s stomach, warm and hesitant over the skin. “Oh,” Jordan says, surprised, and Kris steals the word away, hand curving around Jordan’s back and pulling him down further.
“Don’t stop,” Kris tells him, voice hoarse. “Don’t fucking stop.” He pushes his hips up into Jordan’s and Jordan groans, fingers scrabbling to wind themselves in Kris’s hair and kisses Kris longer, harder, deeper.
Kris rolls them over, legs tangled together as he rocks down again, lips wandering over Jordan’s jaw to his ear and when he catches the lobe in between his teeth Jordan bites his lip to keep the noise from escaping. They’re slowly picking up a rhythm and it’s driving Jordan absolutely mad. If he’s going to do this, if he’s going to do this with Kris, he wants to do it right and they are wearing far too many clothes for Jordan to be on board.
“Wait,” he gets out when he can breathe again, hands slipping from Kris’s hair to his jeans, fumbling with the button and zipper. “Want to touch you.”
Kris’s cheeks flush a gorgeous shade of red and he ducks his head as Jordan works at his jeans. He stutters something that Jordan can’t make out but when Jordan slides his hand inside he swears under his breath. Kris isn’t wearing underwear, and that’s, fuck, “so hot,” Jordan whispers and Kris’s eyes fall closed.
Jordan hesitates only a moment before curling his fingers around Kris’s cock and stroking, feeling bolder at the soft, bitten-off noises Kris is giving him in reply. It’s so hot, watching Kris’s head tip back and his hands tighten around Jordan’s hips when Jordan rubs his thumb on the underside. He’s never done this before, never been with another guy, so Kris’s reactions are leading him. He guesses he’s doing a pretty good job, because Kris suddenly opens his eyes, dark and hungry and says, “Stop, I’m going to - let me -” and “Take off your jeans.”
Jordan immediately misses his body heat when Kris gets off, but he’s staring intently at Jordan as he shoves his jeans and boxers down over his hips and nearly pounces back on when Jordan’s shirt goes flying somewhere. “God,” Kris says, kisses him hard and fast. Then they’re at it again, kissing like the world is going to end if they stop and now they’re naked and Jordan cannot stop touching him, fingers smoothing over the bumps of Kris’s spine, over the cut of his hips, his nipples, his collarbone, his neck and Kris is shivering underneath his hands and their tongues are slick and sliding together, so hot Jordan thinks he’s going to explode.
Their cocks are dragging together between them, smearing precome messy and wet on their stomachs. Jordan grabs Kris’s hand and wraps their fingers together around their cocks, jerking them off.
“Jordan. Jordan,” Kris gasps, fist tightening and his entire body seizes up as he spills over their joined hands.
Jordan follows him almost embarrassingly fast, “Holy shit, Kris,” and he comes with a groan, Kris’s hand still moving over his cock until he slumps beside Jordan, sweaty cheek pressed to Jordan’s shoulder and their breathing returns to a normal rhythm.
Jordan feels completely boneless, head lazily falling to the side to find Kris smirking at him a little. “Best pillow fight of my life,” Jordan mumbles, and Kris laughs into his skin, sneaking one arm over his chest and kissing his shoulder.